Crasher - It's a Trap
Published Wednesday, April 27, 2011 in the San Diego Reader
After first hearing Interrobang’s set at O’Connell’s a few weeks ago, I couldn’t help but suspect occult affiliations. The quartet sounded like Tortoise loosely covering Jobim tunes for a traveling freak and medicine show somewhere in Eastern Europe. Probably their jam sessions were fueled by cold shots of armadillo blood while chanting incantations from Rasputin’s personal notebook. Possibly they were high-ranking officials in the Golden Dawn. At the very least they worshipped Moloch.
So, it came as no surprise when, upon arrival at their City Heights house party the following night, I was subjected to a rigorous initiation process. Like the others present, I was made to take the mark of the beast by choosing from a basket of temporary dinosaur tattoos. The birthday girl, Caroline, had gotten engaged that afternoon to Interrobang guitar/keyboardist Matt and proudly displayed her ring as she seared the terrible lizard onto my arm. As I write this several days later, the grinning purple triceratops on my right wrist shows no sign of fading. To further complicate the hex, several of my fingers were bound with woven Chinese handcuffs, exacerbating the boozing process while my inner Admiral Ackbar could only look on screaming, “It’s a trap!” A quasi-drunk initiate appeared in the kitchen with four crucifixes drawn in Cholula hot sauce on his cheeks and forehead. Clearly, the human sacrifice would be coming soon.
Instead, a dance party erupted to “Stayin’ Alive” in the dining room. The shimmy was short-lived but intense, the kind of outburst I’d pictured when I first registered to vote years ago. I had selected “Other” for political alliance, penciled in “Dance Party,” and was forced to settle for “a real party” if I intended to cast my ballot. What other party is there?!
On the porch, several people smoked and talked. “You look like that one guy!” a girl told me. “You know, from 101 Dalmatians. Daniel something…” “Jeff Daniels!” someone interjected. “Like from Dumb and Dumber.” It wasn’t the most flattering or even accurate likeness I’ve been accused of, but then, neither is the usual “that one guy from Lost.” “The only person I’ve been compared to is a character in Apocalypto,” said Art, Interrobang’s marimba player. “And here’s why.” He showed us his driver’s license photo. “You look like Mogli,” someone said. In long hair and dark skin, he certainly could have passed in the right light for a blood-thirsty, baby-killing Mayan warrior. But was Art honestly suggesting we cut to the sacrifice already? Before the birthday song? While we still had whiskey left to drink?!
Luckily, Caroline shifted the subject with a brief history of the interrobang. “It’s a combined question mark and exclamation point that was available on some typewriters in the ’70s,” she explained. I felt alarmed that the university which had given me a degree in English never felt the need to mention it. Did this reflect on the dismal state of the American education system or my own ineptitude? Did they believe I could make it in this world without the dual “WTF? WOW!” of the interrobang?!
Inside, Caroline ignited the sparklers on her birthday cake and everyone sang the song. A handful of friends broke into a perfect barbershop harmony on the last line followed by a chant of “Shot! Shot! Shot!” After several ounces of the sacrament, we made our way outside to continue the smoking rituals. Sate with vice, we took up instruments in the living room and proceeded to invoke Baphomet with angular, improvised jams.
The Supergroup That Is Wild Flag
sandiegoreader.comBy William Crain
Where in the past [Carrie Brownstein] could sound a little too much like a grad student playing at being a rock star as an intellectual experiment, now she sounds like someone who owns the damn stage.
word vomit on #occupySD from #SanDiego mayoral candidates. except one in particular. The San Diego General Assembly have stated that we are politically autonomous, so I do not want to seem like I am endorsing one of these people over the other.
The Lincoln Club of San Diego County sponsored the first mayoral debate to feature the four leading candidates on the evening of January 13. Councilmember Carl DeMaio, district attorney Bonnie Dumanis, congressman Bob Filner, and assemblyman Nathan Fletcher debated for roughly an hour on issues that ranged from pension reform to jobs creation.
Two questions pertained to the Occupy San Diego movement and the actions of the San Diego Police Department, which has been accused of using excessive force against peaceful protesters. The debate’s moderator stated that four Occupy protesters who interrupted Mayor Sanders’s state of the city address earlier last week were removed, arrested, and allegedly charged with a felony conspiracy. “Is it appropriate for the SDPD to arrest peaceful protesters on felony charges?” the moderator asked. Below are each of the candidates’ responses.
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http://ow.ly/gay4g
ow.lyLooks like Lofty Coffee Company got some love from the SD Reader last week: “Million Dollar Java” by Ian Pike
Aqua Farm
Here’s my article in the San Diego Reader about Aquaponic farming.
http://www.sandiegoreader.com/news/2012/dec/05/citylights2-give-man-fish/
The Selfish Pursuit
Check out my friend Devon on the cover of the San Diego Reader and read all about her surf obsession!
"Afro Puffs"- The San Diego Reader
sandiegoreader.comI was taken aback by this cover and was very offended by it. Plus the article has nothing to do with what the cover of the magazine depicts. It’s ridiculous. Why is it that “nobody likes the Black girls”? Is it because perhaps whoever chose this as an appropriate message feels this way? Honestly, it’s one thing to discuss in depth the sexual and gender violence and racial discrimination Black women experience, but to put a “poem” (or whatever the hell you call it) such as this to represent a main article within the magazine that then has absolutely NOTHING to do with what is depicted on the cover is frustratingly ignorant.
The Deadly Combination of JT's and Pop-punk
sandiegoreader.com
03.16.12
My last memory of JT’s Pub & Grill prior to Friday night was pissing off a large group of drunken Steelers fans during a playoff game by blaring the cheesiest country music imaginable from the jukebox. Vitriolic shouts and icy stares beamed across the rundown Grantville dive. Based on the tap list and overall vibe of the place, my friend and I decided we would leave after finishing our pints, but not before taking advantage of the flashing credits some schmuck had left on the jukebox. In retrospect, that was probably a good way to get stabbed.
Flash forward about two years, and a drinking buddy mentions that his comrade’s band, with roots both local and New Jerseyan, is in town. He describes their sound as pop-punk, which to me is about as appealing as a swift kick to the groin. Upon finding out that the band’s name is Just in Case, I further questioned my decision to leave the comforts of the Green Flash tasting room behind. There is, however, something to be said for the occasional blessing of low expectations. Though the chord progressions were simple (par for the genre’s trodden course), Just in Case impressed with their uptempo surges and catchy hooks.
Lead singer Adam, who bears an unfortunate resemblance to the guy from Hoobastank, delivered simple-yet-effective verses dealing with everything from politics to a vague desire for more. “Reputations” sounded like it could land on 91X with ease. The drummer’s backing death-metal grunts didn’t exactly up the ante, but his rhythms provided a sturdy anchor for the melodies to unfold upon.
There were at least one or two more acts set to play, but the evening ended rather abruptly. One too many Racer 5s and familiar murderous stares after unwittingly hitting on a vocalist’s girlfriend made flight from the Marlboro haze of the patio area seem wise.
Here's the Deal - O'Connell's Pub
Published Wednesday, April 27, 2011 in the San Diego Reader
O’Connells Pub and Nightclub1310 Morena Boulevard, Linda Vista 619-276-5637
“People are always telling me this bar reminds them of a place back home,” says Rick LaLama, who owns O’Connell’s with his wife Lorrie. “No matter where they’re from, it always reminds them of a place back home.”
The familiarity of the cozy Irish dive has much to do with its generic decor — a customary hodgepodge of beer signs, banners, and green lighting. Established in the 1970s, O’Connell’s is located on humdrum Morena next to a Shell station. Giant shamrock logos and neon green trim suggest a leprechaun strip joint, but the only use you’ll likely find for those stray dollar bills is tipping your amiable bartenders. The LaLamas took over in January 2005 and renovated the bar to include a spacious live music area that hosts local and touring acts several nights a week.
“We’re a cross between a neighborhood bar and a live-music venue,” LaLama says. “If you’re a good band, we’re going to bring you in.”
Mirroring the tripartite splendor of the shamrock, O’Connell’s is divided into three sections. The entry/game room holds darts, foosball, and two well-maintained pool tables (with 19–21 ounce cues for you sharks). Next, the elongated and bar offers daily specials on shots ($1), Rolling Rock cans ($2), and Pabst Blue Ribbon ($2 pints, $4 tallboys, $6 pitchers). In addition, the fastidious beer drinker can choose from 17 bottled beers and 10 standard brews on tap. The adjacent music space seats about 30 behind an open hardwood dance floor.
Weeklies include Monday-night blues jams, Tuesday open mics, karaoke Thursdays ($2 Pacifico/Tecate, $3 Jäger), and country/Americana Sundays with Bastard Sons of Johnny Cash and Lightning Train ($3 Shiner Bock bottles and Jim Beam shots).
On one recent evening, locals Interrobang played Latin-infused post-circus gypsy rock on hollow-body guitar, keys, marimba, and drums. The Saint Cloud Sleepers (3/5 of A Scribe Amidst the Lions, plus one) headlined. Exploring a darker sound with the Scribe guys, pianist Carson White crooned like the lovechild of Amanda Palmer and that Bright Eyes guy (though considerably less whiny).
Despite its workaday ambiance, O’Connell’s distinguishes itself from the myriad Irish dives in this world with consistently clean bathrooms, which even boast locking stall doors. Hey, those dancing leprechauns have to butter up somewhere.
— Chad Deal
Capacity: 241
Cover: free to $8
Hours: 11:30 a.m. till 2 a.m., 10 A.M. TILL 2 A.M. Sundays
Happy Hour: until 8:30 P.M. daily
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